


We'll Turn It Around

by uaevuon



Series: Rotation [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Costume Change, Gen, Katsuki Yuuri's 2014-2015 Skating Improvement Meme, M/M, Pole Dancing, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: “The first person in the world to land the first quintuple jump is already alive.”It’s Yuuri’s turn to surprise the world. (No, he doesn’t do that.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> there may be some inaccuracies here. i am not a figure skater. i did quite a lot of research for this fic, including really technical stuff, but there were questions i couldn’t find answers to. sorry for any yikes this may cause. also sorry for any potential yikes in non-US cultural references; again, google only goes so far, but i tried to keep it minimal with that knowledge. any mistakes with the french and japanese languages are my own; i speak both, but not very well, and i know better than to trust google translate with anything. 
> 
> credit for viktor’s theme @uchiuchi7 on twitter, and for viktor’s… we’ll go with ‘leg adornments’ in his SP @semimuru on twitter.

“What do you think, Yuuri?” 

Viktor skated towards him, slowly, almost leisurely. He was breathing a little heavy, but not overly so; not like Yuuri does after a program as gruellingly difficult as the ones Viktor always pulls off. Like the one Viktor just finished showing off to him; flawless as ever, even if he had only been practicing the completed program for one day. 

Three quads; a dizzying step sequence; combination spins that turned him into a blur. Yet interspersed with long, languid, almost pensive sweeps across the ice; glamorous poses or gestures that implied… begging, perhaps, or invitation. 

It was beautiful. 

But it wasn’t _surprising_. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor repeats. 

“It was… not very flashy? Don’t you think?”

Viktor gives a little smirk; the one he makes when Yuuri’s said something so honest it hurts. Or it should. “You’re right.”

“Nothing surprised me, I guess.”

Viktor laughed at that. “Well, no, it wouldn’t. It’s about you after all.” 

Yuuri sucked in a quick breath, but he didn’t stop talking, even if he couldn’t immediately meet Viktor’s eyes. “I… could tell.” But hearing Viktor _say_ it was different. “I didn’t understand at first, but I guess that was the banquet.” Yuuri still remembered precisely none of what had happened that night, even after seeing all the videos Phichit had lovingly collected from every person present that night. “I sort of figured it out when you got to the part where I copied your _Stammi Vicino_ program; you re-used a few of the gestures, but you did them the way I did.” 

“I thought you might notice.”

“Of course I would.” Yuuri knew every step to that program -- _both_ versions of it, by heart, and was certain he would remember even when he was no longer able to complete it. “It’s just, strange. I expected you to surprise me, not… re-do what you’ve already done.”

“Well, isn’t that a surprise, then?”

“It’s not your kind of surprise. You go bigger, better, more stunning every time. Because you like that sort of thing. But you didn’t; you don’t even have four quads.”

“Maybe I’m getting old.” 

“Viktor, you and I both know you’re still in top form.” Yuuri bowed his head slightly. “I expected you to do something new.”

“New?”

“Mm.”

“Like what? I’ve done all there is to do. Every genre of music; every step and spin and more. I’ve landed every jump there is.”

“You haven’t.”

“I didn’t land the quad loop in competition, but I’ve done it in exhibitions. I just don’t like it, so I don’t do it.”

Yuuri knew that, of course, but that wasn’t what he meant. 

Viktor shrugged. “What would you have me do that I haven’t done?”

“I guess…” Yuuri sighed. “I sort of thought you’d try to land the quad axel.” 

Viktor laughed, loud and ringing clear across the rink. His mouth shaped itself into a heart, the way it so endearingly did that made Yuuri melt whenever he saw it, even now. “Oh, Yuuri. The axel is my weakest jump, you know that.” 

“You say that as if you _have_ a weak jump at all.” 

Viktor sighed, still chuckling lightly. He turned around, leaning his forearms on the boards as he looked out at the ice. “I don’t think you’re the only one who expected I would do it.”

“No.” Yuuri didn’t want to admit it, but he still went out of his way to read every bit of media reporting on Viktor; he’s seen the rumours, the speculation. (It sort of contented him to know that Viktor did the same, reading everything there was to know about Yuuri.)

“So, who would be surprised? Of course it’s the next step -- aside from taking my world records back, of course.” 

“Even if we expect you to try…”

“You’ll still be surprised if I do it? No. I know better. No-one was surprised when I broke the record; no-one was surprised when I won my fifth Grand Prix in a row. You know what did surprise them? When I left skating to coach you. I was the only one who wasn’t surprised.” Viktor sighed again, with much more drama. “At this point I think they’ll be more shocked if I lose.” 

“Don’t you dare!” Yuuri shouted. “If you’re lowering the difficulty because you want to lose--”

“I don’t want to lose. I hate losing more than I hate being boring.” Viktor pushed off the wall and did a quick turn, skating backwards, lazily. “Though, if you beat me, I wouldn’t hate it quite as much.” 

“Viktor…” Yuuri took the guards off his skates and joined Viktor on the ice. “Wouldn’t you want to make history with a record no-one could break? The first to land the quad axel in competition. You could do it.” 

“I don’t care about being the first to do anything. I want to be the _best_. Besides, there are always better jumps. The first person in the world to land the first quintuple jump must already be alive.” 

“You don’t know that.” Yuuri wanted to shake him (as he often did), if it would change anything. “Many people don’t even believe the quad axel is possible. If four and a half rotations is so difficult to complete, how will someone do five?” 

“Oh, they’ll do it. Someday.” Viktor locked eyes with Yuuri again; went forwards while Yuuri went backwards and picked their route. “Besides, it wouldn’t fit in either program. The short is about my life before I won my first senior competition, in which I’ll only use the jumps and spins I could do then; the free is about love, so I’ll only do what you can do. I know I can win with that much.”

Yuuri frowned. “All right.” 

“‘All right?’ You’re usually more stubborn than this.” 

Yuuri didn’t say anything to that; he just continued in his slow circles around the rink, more or less cooling down for the day. It was getting late, after all; Yuri and Yakov had already left, leaving only the two of them alone in the cold. Both Yuuri and Viktor were tired, and Makkachin must be hungry, and Yuuri for one could feel a new sore on the back of his ankle. 

\---

Yuuri thought his new skates were broken in, but evidently not quite enough. The sore from the night before was chafed almost raw, and the bandage he’d wrapped it in only helped so much. Still, he got to the rink a little earlier than his usual, and was on the ice as soon as it was clean, while everyone else was still out to lunch. 

Viktor, with Georgi at his side, returned a half hour later to see Yuuri take off on a double axel. As soon as he landed, he picked up speed again, going for a triple. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor called, when Yuuri touched down again. 

Yuuri came to a stop. “Hello, Viktor. And Georgi. I’m just practicing jumps.”

“Axels?” Viktor pointed out, remembering their conversation from the night before. “You’re not going for the quad, are you? You haven’t even done the others.”

“I’ve done the lutz.”

He had, of course, but only in the grainy video of him copying Viktor’s program almost a year ago, and the landing had been shaky. He hadn’t managed it in practice before or since -- had fallen or under-rotated each of the very few times he tried it, so Viktor never suggested he add it to his program. Even in his exhibition, Yuuri downgraded that lutz to a triple, just so he would be more likely to land it. “Not in competition,” Viktor reminded him. 

“I can still do it. But I’m just refining; not anything new.”

He had that gleam in his eye though. Viktor saw it. That sparkle that meant he was _searching_. That glitter that meant, when he found it, he would blow Viktor away. The rings on their right hands represented only one of a million times that Yuuri surprised Viktor more than Viktor surprised the entire world, and he would do it again, that much was certain. 

Viktor left Yuuri to it for the time being. Yuuri usually used his afternoons this way, anyway; practicing bits and pieces while Viktor trained. He would move into rehearsing his programs in the evening, after most of the other skaters left, and Yakov was only left with Yuri. 

Viktor watched as Yuuri did another triple axel, landing cleanly as he usually did. It was Yuuri’s favourite jump, and one of his best; Yuuri had told him once that he practiced it most out of all of them, to get it perfect. Indeed, he’d only missed the jump three times this whole season, only once in competition. Even at the previous Grand Prix, when Yuuri had fallen out of all of his quads and most of his triples, his axel stayed clean, even elegant. 

It wasn’t that Viktor doubted Yuuri could do it. Until now, he had no opinion either way. He believed, very strongly, that Yuuri could do anything, but never specifically thought about this. But if anyone was going to land the quad axel… if anyone currently skating was going to do it, wouldn’t it be the one with the best axels to begin with? 

Yuuri kept throwing himself into the jumps, one after another with short breaks every five, until his chest was heaving in his deep, overworked breaths, and his legs shook. He slowed down, wove between Yakov’s skaters all doing their own thing, until his breath calmed and he felt cooled down enough to rest. 

Yakov was shouting at Viktor, something about paying attention to what he was doing, but Yuuri tuned it out. He brushed the ice and water off his skates and put the guards on, then began to pick at the tightly knotted laces. He knew he would need a long break; Yuuri could already feel the swelling and he wouldn’t be surprised if his ankle started to bleed. Adrenaline might dull the pain for a while, but now that Yuuri had stopped, he knew the new skates had hurt him again. 

Yuuri hissed in pain as the first skate came free, followed by his sock; sure enough, there was a little bit of dark staining the bandage. Not much, and it seemed dry, but it was still there. He would clean it up once he got out of the cold. The second skate came off, displaying Yuuri’s usual mix of old calluses and new blisters. Yuuri switched into spare socks, and then his sneakers, loosened to hold his swelling feet. He left his skates in the stands while he headed out and up to the heated ground floor. 

He found the med kit, and was seated on one of the softer couches while he waited for his feet to feel a little more normal. Yuuri checked his phone while he sat, just for something to do, and Makkachin, who had been finally allowed to join them in the skating complex after showing off his perfect obedience to the owners, came up and pushed his furry head into Yuuri’s lap, nudging at his hands in a request for petting. Yuuri complied; how could he not?

Phichit had tagged him in a video on Instagram -- _quad salchow! coming for you, @ykatsuki!_

Yuuri commented, though he so rarely did, because even with his aching feet, the high of practice, of skating, of _a new goal_ hadn’t left. Because, yes, he _wanted_ to do the quad axel, if only because that would make Viktor want to do it too. 

(A part of him… a selfish, competitive part… the part that surfaced every once in a while, to blurt out how he’ll _never surpass Viktor at this rate_ , wanted to do it for himself, too.)

 _Great job! Working on a new quad myself…_ Yuuri typed, and he posted the comment before he could think too much about it. Phichit responded almost instantaneously, with about thirty exclamation marks. 

Yuuri scrolled through his feed; as usual, it was mostly Phichit’s photos, a few from Guang Hong (so much for quitting social media…) and Yurio, and one or two from other skaters. There was one from Viktor, a video, and Yuuri tapped on it. 

It was a video of him, in fact; Yuuri had begun to dominate Viktor’s Instagram, since he didn’t post much himself. The video was shot from across the ice. Yuuri, taking off in a triple axel, landing, skating around a bit; then, much closer, a single axel. The caption read, “ _He’s been doing these all day…_ ” Viktor didn’t tag him, but he didn’t need to; the comments were all about Yuuri anyway. _Gorgeous! -- Amazing! -- You can see why the axel is his best. -- You can see why his axel is the best._

Yuuri closed out of the app, slightly uncomfortable with the attention. He didn’t mind Viktor posting about him, but this was why he never used his social media. He never knew what to say about the compliments, and he _definitely_ didn’t know how to respond to criticism. 

The doors to the rink opened, and Viktor came out into the warmth, with his skates still on. “Is something wrong, Yuuri?” 

“No, just too many jumps, and the scrape from yesterday opened up again. Can you help me clean it?” Yuuri asked, holding up the med kit. 

“Of course.” Viktor went down to his knees on the floor in front of Yuuri, and carefully picked up his right foot. He took off the shoe and sock, and he lifted Yuuri’s pant leg to kiss his calf while he gently massaged Yuuri’s aching foot. “I’m glad you stopped when you needed to. Sometimes you keep going.”

“Mm. I guess I’ve learned.” 

“How many times have you jumped today?”

“Lost count.”

“Be careful, Yuuri. It’s going to be hell on your knees.” Viktor kissed said knees, over Yuuri’s pants this time. 

“I know. I was thinking of sticking to choreography and such tonight, and less jumps, to balance it out.” 

“That sounds fine. But no more for now. Rest.” Viktor began to unwrap the bandage from around Yuuri’s ankle. “That’s an order from your coach. And if you don’t listen, then this time I really will find a way to make you stop.” 

Yuuri hissed as his foot began to swell again, freed of the slight compression of the bandage. “All right. I’ll take a break until after dinner.” 

“Good.” Viktor cleaned the scraped-off area of skin; there was no fresh blood, but it still didn’t look great. “You’ll need to stay off this too, anyway. Don’t irritate it more than you need to. I almost want to prescribe you a full day’s rest.”

“You can’t keep me off the ice that long; I have Nationals soon.”

Viktor knew that. He had his own Nationals just as soon, on the same days in fact, and he would miss Yuuri dearly when they parted for that short time, but it had to happen. Minako would make a wonderful stand-in coach for Yuuri, Viktor was certain. 

For now, he could only do his best to treat Yuuri’s injuries, and make sure his practice in St. Petersburg was as successful as possible. 

(And, of course, polish his own programs in record time. There was no point if they couldn’t both stand tall at Worlds, was there?)

Viktor applied an antiseptic cream and quickly covered the wound in gauze, then wrapped a fresh bandage around Yuuri’s ankle, making sure it wouldn’t cut off circulation, but was still tight enough to stop any swelling. 

“Are you really trying to do the quad axel?” Viktor asked. 

“Not today,” was Yuuri’s only answer. 

\---

It wasn’t until Yuuri was almost asleep that evening that someone figured it out. 

Of course, Phichit saw a retweet of the speculation within minutes, and so he called Yuuri immediately to confirm. 

“ _Is it true? You’re going for the axel?_ ” 

“Huh?” Yuuri barely understood him, sleepy as he was. “Axels? I’ve been doing axels all day. Viktor posted a video.”

“ _I know, I saw, they’re saying you’re going for the quad!_ ”

“Who says that?”

“ _Everyone_ ,” Phichit said, very seriously, which Yuuri had long since learned was a word attached to at least two thousand retweets on Twitter. 

“Oh. But I never said that.”

“ _You said you were practicing a quad! You commented that on my video, Yuuri, I have documentation of this._ ” Phichit was practically shrieking in his elation. 

“I never said I was practicing quads _today_. Well, yesterday,” Yuuri amended, after he looked at the clock. 

Viktor grumbled beside him, having been woken more so by Phichit’s shouting than Yuuri’s whispers. “Yuuri, sleep, or I will speak in French.” It was the furthest thing from a threat, but it would lead to certain things that would make one or both of them unable to skate to their full ability the next day. 

“Phichit, I have to go. It’s really late.”

“ _I know, but--!_ ”

“Good night, Phichit. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” 

Phichit sighed. “ _Good night, Yuuri._ ” 

\---

Yuuri went back to his regular routine the next day; he worked on the components of his free program that Viktor pointed out to him the previous evening. He was going back to the original choreography for Nationals, since his skate had the highest difficulty by far, and Viktor assured that Yuuri would win if he performed half as well as he did at the Grand Prix Final. It felt strange, almost wrong, not to do the quad flip at the end, but Viktor insisted, and Yuuri didn’t disagree with his reasoning. 

But… _Eros_ needed more work. Yuuri had trouble with it now, for some reason. He couldn’t get his head into the right space for it. Viktor insisted he just needed to _think about the entangling of the egg with the rice_ , and god, katsudon would never be the same now that he understood what Viktor really meant, but Yuuri knew it was more than that. 

He knew now that _Eros_ had been about him all along. Yuuri was the handsome bachelor, charming ladies left and right, sweeping Viktor off his feet and then tossing him aside to disappear into the night. Except that wasn’t like Yuuri at all, and something about knowing where it all came from made it harder to drag out the personality he’d created for the program. 

Before he knew it, the Russian skaters were leaving the ice, heading home for dinner. Viktor grabbed the bag Yuuri left in the stands; an insulated tote packed with three double-level bento boxes. One for Yuuri, one for Viktor, and one for Yuri, who barrelled into the building at precisely that moment, loud enough for Viktor to hear him all the way in the subterranean rink. 

Yuuri cleaned ice off the blades of his skates before removing them; there was no blood this time, but he wanted to put clean, not-sweaty bandages on after he ate anyway. 

Viktor waited for Yuuri to change into his shoes and join him before they headed out. Yuri was already waiting at the usual table; he gave up on pretending he hated Yuuri and all his cooking after the third time Yuuri brought him home-cooked food within his dietary restrictions, and now looked forward to it. Or at least, ate it without complaint, and with an “it’s good” when Yuuri asked if he liked it. He even pet Makkachin when the dog requested it, though he mostly pushed himself in between Yuuri and Viktor and whined very quietly when he did not have at least one of their hands somewhere in his soft fur. 

“How’s your quad axel going?” Yuri asked, around a mouthful of organic whole-grain brown rice. There was the tiniest bit of mirin and low-sodium shoyu flavouring the grains; Yuri savoured it. 

Yuuri choked slightly on the vegetable broth he’d just sipped. “What!” he squeaked out, while Viktor rubbed his back. 

“Aren’t you trying it?” Yuri asked. “You won’t beat me, even with that.” He didn’t even believe Yuuri could do it, but he didn’t feel up to fighting with Viktor today, so he kept that it. 

“I never said I was!”

“The whole internet is talking about it. You’re a meme now.” 

“What?”

Yuri rolled his eyes and picked up his phone. After a few moments, he held it up so Yuuri could see. There was a photo of him, slightly grainy, in last year’s free skate costume. On the photo was a caption in large white capital letters -- _Comes last in GPF after missing all quads. Learns quad axel anyway._

“But I didn’t! I haven’t even tried it.” 

“You sure?”

“He hasn’t,” Viktor confirmed. 

“You’re not even thinking of it?” Yuri asked, squinting. 

“W-well, I won’t say that.” Yuuri nibbled on the rim of his cup, his nerves at admitting such a thing running too high to hide. “But I’m nowhere near ready to try it. I wish people would stop this rumour, I never said I was going to do it.” 

“So you are going to do it.” 

“I… maybe. Eventually. Not soon enough for anyone to be expecting, or talking about it, or making… _memes_.” All Yuuri could think about now was how disappointed his fans would be (what few fans he had) when he couldn’t do it after all. 

(Truthfully, Yuuri had many fans, as Japan’s ace figure skater and now silver medalist in the Grand Prix and holder of the free program world record score, but he would never believe it. Yuuri honestly thought the Yuuri Katsuki Fan Club consisted solely of Viktor, Phichit, and Minami. He had _no idea_.) 

(He definitely had no idea Yuri Plisetsky was a member.)

(Yuri Plisetsky declined to comment.)

“Here’s another one.” Yuri offered the phone again. It was the same photo, but the caption this time read _2013: loses Grand Prix. 2014: gets silver and Nikiforov’s heart. 2015: quad axel?_ “Not as funny, but it gets the point across.” Yuri took his phone back and, presumably, left the memes behind for Instagram or international text messages. 

That was another thing that had changed; while at first, Yuri had groaned or yelled at Yuuri and Viktor for even so much as looking at each other, now he regarded their ambiguous-but-definitely-leaning-in-some-certain-eighteen-carat-gold-directions relationship with apathy, or even grudging support. 

Unless he came across them kissing. That was not to be tolerated, under any circumstances. 

“How’s school?” Yuuri asked, desperate to change the subject. 

“I hate it, as usual. Can’t wait to be done so I can focus on skating.” 

“What do you hate most today?”

“Chemistry. Why do I care what helium and potassium combine into? Or if they even do. I don’t care. Why the hell did you go to college and put yourself through more of this torture?”

“I liked learning. And I had to do something with my time when I wasn’t skating.” 

“I’d rather be skating all the time,” Yuri said. He shoved some snow peas into his mouth and spoke through them. “I know I’d strain myself. I won’t actually do it. I just feel like I’m wasting my time.” 

“Well, in college, you choose what you study, and you study what’s important to you. So it feels less like a waste.” It was difficult, definitely, to go to class, do all his assignments, and still skate many hours a day, but Yuuri never once thought it wasn’t worth it. Not even when he cried alone in the bathroom at the Grand Prix Final, immediately after finding out he was in last place. 

It was only just over a year, but it seemed like an eternity ago, and he’d come such a long way. Yuuri was starting to understand the humour in that meme after all. 

Yuri stood up, having finished his meal. “Well, let me know if you’re trying the quad. I’d love to see you fall on your ass again.” 

“Yurio!” Viktor gasped, scandalized. The only reason he let Yuri get away with it was he sort of smiled, and clapped his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as he went past. 

“The food was good, by the way. It’s like a Lilia-approved katsudon.”

“Oh, good. That’s what I was going for.” Yuuri smiled and packed the empty boxes back up. 

“Do you want me to help with your foot again?” Viktor asked, after Makkachin was back on his leash and Yuri was out of sight. 

“Mm, I appreciate it.” 

Viktor got down on his knees again with the med kit Yuuri had prepared. Like the last few times, he unwrapped Yuuri’s ankle, rubbed his feet a bit, then cleaned off the healing wound and re-dressed it. “You don’t feel any strain from yesterday?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I’ve practiced more intensely than that, you know.” 

“I do.” Viktor helped Yuuri to his feet (not that he really needed it) and led him by the hand down to the ice. Yurio was already warming up, while the junior skaters were still tying their laces. Viktor was already helping Yuuri into his skates before Yuuri could do it on his own. It was unnecessary, but Yuuri let him do it anyway. 

“Are you sure it doesn’t tire you out? Coaching me after you skate, I mean.” 

Viktor shook his head. “If I wasn’t here, I would be at home, reading and wishing I was here, or drinking and wishing I was here, or cooking myself a mediocre dinner and wishing I was here.” 

“Your cooking isn’t bad,” Yuuri said. 

“It’s not as good as yours. Tight enough?” Viktor asked, and when Yuuri nodded, he tied off the laces. He reached for Yuuri’s hands at his either side on the bench, and covered them with his own; Yuuri shifted so their fingers interlocked. Yuuri leaned down and touched their foreheads together. 

“Gross!” Yuri shouted as he zipped past them, and then set up for a jump that neither of them were paying enough attention to see. 

“Come on,” Viktor said, very quietly. “Let’s get you on the ice.”

\---

“Your hair is getting long,” Yuuri pointed out, on a day when it was so damn snowy out that they got stuck inside the apartment building, both unwilling and unable to brave the blizzard in order to get to practice. They couldn’t afford the break, but they also couldn’t afford freezing their extremities. 

Viktor touched his silvery locks, the fringe falling low on his face. He tugged a strand perfectly straight, and it passed his chin. “Hm. It is. Do you think I should cut it?”

“Oh, no. Not unless you want to.”

“Do you like it long?”

“Well.” Yuuri paused. His hands reached for Viktor’s head, pillowed on his chest while they lay on the sofa. He ran his fingers through the silky softness. “I do.”

“I’ll let it grow out more, then. Your hair is getting a bit long too, you know.”

“Mm. I don’t really know where to get it cut around here.” 

“You could have mentioned that!” Viktor said. “I know many salons in St. Petersburg, I could show you to my favourite, or, hmm. You would think it’s too expensive, maybe my third favourite?” 

“Viktor. I don’t really mind. I never thought I would look good with long hair, but I actually kind of like it?” Yuuri’s statement turned up in pitch at the end, like he wasn’t sure he liked it, though Viktor could tell he really, really did. 

“Well, I like it too. I wonder how long you’ll let it go.” 

\---

It wasn’t until after Yuuri won the Japanese Nationals that he devoted another stubborn, tunnel-vision day to axels. 

Yuri won in Russia, with Viktor coming in a close second, to everyone’s surprise but his own; he only had a few weeks to practice his programs, after all. 

“Ah, he’s doing it again…” Viktor watched from his place leaning against the boards. He had just stopped for a drink, but as usual Yuuri caught his eyes, and he was thoroughly distracted. 

Yuuri hadn’t fallen all day, Viktor was certain. That was a better record than even Viktor himself had with the triple axel. 

“Do you think he’s going to do it today?” Mila asked when she stopped next to him, and Viktor hid his smile against his water bottle. 

“Not today. He hasn’t found it yet.” Viktor couldn’t help it. He was bubbling inside, practically giddy with delight. Yuuri, _his Yuuri_ , was going to land the first quadruple axel someday. He just knew it. He closed his bottle and left it on the ledge as he returned to his own practice, before Yakov could shout at him again. 

For most of the day Yuuri had been cycling through the axels -- single, double, triple, break, and repeat. Not long ago, he cut out the doubles, because he just wasn’t feeling the wide difference in force that he was used to feeling between a triple and a quad. It was closer between a single and triple… about the same difference in strength, but Yuuri didn’t see how he could double it. 

Yuuri skated around a few times, slowly, backwards so the other skaters knew he wasn’t going to launch into another axel anytime soon. The ice was getting deeply scratched, and at this speed he could feel it grating against his skates, the vibrations shaking his whole body. He watched the other skaters out of the corner of his eye, searching for something that might make it _click_. 

Suddenly, Yuuri heard this unmistakeable sound of a very tall Russian man falling on his ass. It was followed with a bit of clapping from Mila and Georgi, and Yakov yelling -- “Why are you practicing quad loops when you don’t have a single one in your program!” 

Viktor stood and dusted the snow off his sweatpants. “Just wondering if I could still do it. You can all go back to your practice now, thank you for your support,” he said, all fake grace, to those skaters clapping and holding back laughter. 

Yuuri had to admit, it _was_ kind of funny seeing the Great Viktor Nikiforov fall in such an undignified manner. It didn’t exactly happen all that often; those who trained with him were lucky to see such a rare sight. It was a reminder that he was human, after all, and not a machine built to deliver flawless performance after flawless performance. 

And the best part was, it made Yuuri _think_. 

An axel was a lot like a loop, after all, just completely backwards. Entering the jump from the opposite direction, and taking off from the opposite foot, and turning an extra half-revolution to compensate, but otherwise the same. It was like… if you took a salchow and a loop, put them together, and turned around. 

He took off. 

He wouldn’t go into the jump at top speed; if he did that on his first try, Yuuri would end up in the same position as Viktor, sprawled across the ice with snow sneaking up the back of his shirt. The other skaters seemed to sense something was different; they knew he wouldn’t be going for the axel, not yet, because he was still skating backwards, but they gave him a little space anyway, like they could _feel_ something interesting about to happen. 

Yuuri passed so close to Viktor that his tailwind ruffled Viktor’s hair. And then, he bent his knee, and jumped. 

And landed. 

And stopped.

“That was four, right?” Yuuri called out. Mila, who was nearest him, confirmed it. “Good.” 

A quad loop, then. 

_Now_ his knees were starting to ache. 

Yuuri left the ice as soon as he cooled down, with the intention to stretch and elevate his legs as soon as possible, and prevent a real injury. As soon as he did, he could feel every bit of the strain he had put on his legs that day. Yuuri hissed through his teeth, gripping tight above his right knee, hoping to dull the sudden flare of pain. He didn’t see Viktor following him until the man was already on his knees, fingers in Yuuri’s laces. “Is something wrong?”

“My knee. I think I put too much strain on it today, but I should be all right by the evening.” 

“I can’t believe you did that,” Viktor said. His hands worked quickly at the laces, but he took off the boot carefully, not to jostle Yuuri’s leg and hurt him more. “Not that I didn’t think you could, I just didn’t think you would try.” 

“It was the only one I hadn’t done. I thought it would help.”

“And did it?” 

“We’ll have to see,” Yuuri said cryptically, though he knew the answer. 

It hadn’t helped at all. 

\---

Yuuri said his knee felt better after dinner. 

Viktor could tell he was lying. 

So they went home, walking slowly, while Yuuri had Georgi’s spare knee brace on under his sweatpants. It wasn’t a bad strain, he could tell; he’d be back on the ice tomorrow, or the day after for sure. But he definitely overworked himself. After countless times landing on his right leg, it was only after he jumped from it that it started to hurt, but Yuuri knew the injury must have begun earlier. 

For now, he sat on Viktor’s sofa ( _our sofa_ , as Viktor repeatedly reminded him) while Viktor rubbed his legs, pressing deep into the muscles. 

“That feels good,” Yuuri said. 

“Does it?” 

Viktor dug his fingers into the back of Yuuri’s knee; Yuuri hummed. 

“I’ll do this for you every day, if you like. As long as you want.”

“I’ll never get any skating done.” 

“Hmm. I do like watching you skate. But I think I like holding you better…” Viktor wrapped his long arms around Yuuri’s middle and pillowed his head on Yuuri’s chest. “It’s a very close thing.” 

“I bet. But I have to skate. I have to beat you and win gold, remember?” 

“I’ll still marry you if you don’t. If you want to stop, and never leave my side…” he kissed Yuuri’s belly through his shirt. “I’ll just invite Georgi over, he can officiate.” 

“Who says I want you to?” 

“Don’t you want to get married?” 

“Not until after I win international gold. Which reminds me; you still haven’t kissed my medal from Nationals.”

“You’re right!” Viktor jumped up (so much for never leaving Yuuri’s side) and dashed to their bedroom. He picked Yuuri’s medal out of its shadow box and returned to the sofa. 

Yuuri put the ribbon over his head and flipped the medal face-up on his chest. He waited for Viktor to lean down and kiss it; Viktor’s eyes closed, and Yuuri dragged the medal a little higher on his chest, so Viktor’s lips only touched shirt. Viktor opened his eyes, confused; he saw the smirk on Yuuri’s face, and the fingers on his medal’s ribbon, and Viktor accepted his challenge. He chased after the medal an inch at a time, leaving kisses up Yuuri’s sternum, his neck, his chin, and just when Viktor thought he might get it, Yuuri pulled the medal off completely and their lips met. 

Viktor couldn’t possibly complain. 

\---

Yuuri’s knee felt tight when he woke the next morning, but as soon as it was out of the borrowed brace it was good as new, so he was back on the ice. Viktor still told him to limit his jumps for the afternoon, just in case. 

In the evening, Viktor asked him a question that had been on his mind ever since Yuuri first brought it up. 

“What are you going to do with the quad axel once you land it?”

“I still haven’t said I’m going to.”

“Let’s assume you do. What next?”

“I haven’t thought about it. I still haven’t decided I’m going to do it.”

Viktor didn’t believe that for a second. Two days of non-stop axels, and he hasn’t decided. Hmm. “Well, I’ll see if it fits in your free program. You won’t want to end with it, and I do like the flip where it is. Maybe we’ll just replace a triple…?” Viktor tapped his chin, as if he was thinking long and hard about it. 

“You think I should finish off the season with a _third_ jump I’d never landed in competition before?” Yuuri asked, incredulous. “I wouldn’t.”

“Would it make you keep skating if you didn’t show it off?”

“I can’t promise that. You know I can’t.” It was still there. Viktor’s challenge for Yuuri to win five gold medals was still there, and it wasn’t going away any time soon. But he _couldn’t promise_. Yuuri didn’t know when he would fall off the other side of his peak, and the very first moment of that decline would mean the end of his career in competitive skating. Everyone was saying this was _a new Yuuri Katsuki, the rebirth of a rising star_ , but he couldn’t rise forever. He didn’t even expect to rise this season at first. Without Viktor’s pushing, Yuuri would have retired, and faded into obscurity. 

But that part of him that wanted to do it? The part that wanted to challenge Viktor, to do something better, to do something _first_ , to surpass even Viktor’s wildest imaginations? That was still there too. 

So Yuuri knew, no matter what he said, that there was no way he would retire until he not only had those five gold medals, but also landed that damn quad axel in competition. For that, he would have to push himself. 

Viktor knew it too, if only because that light in Yuuri’s eyes hadn’t gone away, not even for a _second_ , since he’d first brought it up. He was still searching. And Viktor had no doubt he would find exactly what he was looking for. 

Though Yuuri felt not even the slightest strain left in his knee, he still went along with Viktor’s suggestion that he downgrade all his jumps to singles and focus on his step sequences. Sure, he needed to push himself -- but there was a difference between hard work and inviting injury. 

“Viktor?” Yuuri began when he took a short break. 

“Hm?” 

“Have you ever done a backflip?”

“On ice? No. It’s not allowed in competition.” Viktor swept his hair away from his face, the tips of his fingers lingering on his ear. The strands slipped slowly back into place in front of his left eye, too silky-smooth to catch on his skin. “I thought it might be fun for exhibitions, but I wouldn’t waste time on it when I have so much else to perfect. Why, have you done it?”

“No.” 

“Do you think it would help?” 

“Probably not.” 

“You want to do it anyway, don’t you?” Viktor’s lips spread into a smile that threatened to open up into his heart-mouth grin if Yuuri didn’t do something to stop it. 

“No, no… I don’t think there’s anything that will ‘help’ other than just doing it. I didn’t practice quad sals by doing toe loops, did I?” 

“But you did a quad loop after a full day of axels, so there might be some merit in a change of pace.” 

“...You just want to see me do a backflip, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please.” Viktor’s eyes were wide, his mouth going heart whenever he opened it. Yuuri sighed, exasperated, but even he couldn’t deny Viktor’s Eager Face, complete with hands closed into fists and held up in front of his chest, was cute. 

“Not today.” 

“No! No, of course not. Maybe in a week or so, when I clear you for more than singles.”

“You’re keeping me to single jumps for a _week_?!” 

\---

Yuuri stared at the object before him. Long, narrow, silver… and far from unfamiliar, though not many knew he had any experience with it. Even fewer knew just how much. 

“Viktor?”

“Yes, Yuuri?” Viktor said, drawing out all the vowels extra-long because he absolutely knew what it did to Yuuri. 

Yuuri swallowed around a sudden dry spot in his throat. “Why are we in a pole dancing studio?” 

“Your _eros_ needs work; you’re still so angry whenever you skate it. We’ve tried everything else.” They had. They _really_ had. “And since I _know_ you know how to pole dance, I thought it might help to get a little practice in.” 

Yuuri glared at the Viktor in the mirror; the Viktor in the mirror merely smiled back and ran his fingers through his hair. Yuuri sighed; Viktor’s hands moved into Yuuri’s hair, pushing it back from his face. 

“Please, Yuuuuuuri? It’s been so long since I saw it…” 

“Hm. Sure.” Yuuri moved out of Viktor’s grasp (though the fingers in his hair and the nails gently scratching against his scalp _did_ feel nice). He took off his glasses and pulled his shirt over his head, and after some deliberation, removed his pants and socks as well; he wouldn’t have enough grip on the pole in long sleeves and sweatpants, and god only knew how he managed to do it with socks on, while blackout drunk. 

“I haven’t done this since I left Detroit, so I might be a little rusty. Do you just want me to do whatever, or…?”

“I was thinking you could do your _Eros_ program, but translated to the pole. Like how you do it on the floor. If you can; I don’t actually know how all this works. Chris is the expert…”

Yuuri smiled a little. “Sure. Okay. I can do that. Music?” 

Viktor startled, like he had completely forgotten about music, but then he hurried over to the speaker system to plug in his phone. “Ready?” 

Yuuri nodded. He struck the opening pose. 

It didn’t feel like _eros_ , honestly. It felt like fun, making split-second decisions about what trick would best replicate this jump or that step, but it wasn’t… well, it wasn’t _sexy_. Yuuri had never done pole dancing because it was sexy. At first he did it because Phichit dragged him to a class for his birthday, and when Phichit quit after a few weeks, Yuuri kept going because he was surprisingly good at it, and it was fun… and Minako found out. She convinced him by saying it would be a good full-body strength exercise. 

And, okay, it made him feel a _little bit_ sexy. 

Viktor certainly seemed to find him sexy, though he remained salivating in his corner with the music system. 

“You can come closer, you know,” Yuuri said, and the next time he looked, Viktor was as close as he could get without being in danger of getting kicked in the face. Yuuri laughed. “You look like you want this to turn into a striptease, or a lap dance.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Viktor said, not quite under his breath enough for Yuuri not to hear.

The song neared its end… Yuuri pushed off the pole, throwing it aside like a rejected playboy, and landed squarely just in front of Viktor. He spun around once, and threw his hands around Viktor’s neck; Yuuri could feel Viktor’s heart hammering away, his thin t-shirt doing nothing to muffle it. 

And Yuuri stepped forward, pushing Viktor back chest-to-chest until he fell into a conveniently placed chair near the far wall. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s eyes were wider than Yuuri had ever seen them. 

Yuuri stood up straight, and he pushed his hair away from his face. Damp with sweat, it stayed put; and he looked down at Viktor through only a few stray strands. 

Viktor’s music player was always on repeat… he just had to wait out the long silence at the end of the song. 

“So do you know the rules?” Yuuri asked. 

“Rules?”

“You don’t get to touch.” 

\---

 _Eros_ got better. 

It wasn’t the perfect work of art it had been at the Cup of China. Viktor wondered if it ever would be again; Yuuri was certain it wouldn’t. But it was still fantastic, and it was _sexy_ again, and Yuuri was landing his quad flip more consistently than the salchow now. In a sport where 0.12 points separated gold and silver, every +3 GOE counted, and Yuuri could almost say he had his in the palm of his hand. 

Yuri won the European Championship, and Viktor held up his bronze medal with the effortless smile of one who was kissing gold. Inside, however, he could feel his glass heart smashing to bits. This wasn’t the Russian Nationals. He’d only had another month of practice, but it should have been _enough_. 

From Yuri’s left, Christophe Giacometti smiled with the tired eyes of a man who had never won international gold, and who had only one shot left at it, without even the slightest belief he would even make it to the podium at Worlds -- but also with the playfulness of someone who had finally, _finally_ , beaten his friend and rival. That had to count for something. It _had_ to; otherwise the announcement of Chris’s retirement at the end of the season, all written and ready to be disseminated after World’s, would be an open wound. No amount of silver medals could stitch it closed. 

Suddenly, with what felt like no warning at all, the Four Continents was a week away. Yuuri found himself in the incredibly precarious position of _Most Likely To Win_ according to a certain prediction machine, based on his scores and general upwards trajectory at the Grand Prix, followed by JJ Leroy and Otabek Altin. It was perfectly terrifying, and Yuuri positively shook in his skates when Phichit, tied at eighth with Seung-Gil Lee, related that news to him. 

The main reason why Yuuri was so nervous was not because he was at the top and the only way to go was down (though that was, admittedly, pretty damn terrifying). It was because the computer had been wrong before, and ultimately the predictions meant nothing at all, but he would get questions and pressure and if he lost, he would let everyone down. 

As much as Viktor tried to calm him down (and he was getting much better at it), Yuuri went into his short program with only enough confidence to draw on his memories of the last time he had tasted katsudon for inspiration. He hoped it didn’t show. He hoped his _eros_ flowed like a winding river of unmentionable fluids. 

It did, but with the unexpected rocky turn of under-rotating his quad salchow and touching down on the flip. His frustration showed near the end, overflowing like he was coming upon a waterfall, and the beautiful cascade of his final twenty seconds were not enough to bring his score above one hundred points. 

Yuuri finished the short program in sixth place. Otabek’s extended stare at Yuuri was blank of any emotion, as per usual, but Yuri, who had flown in to support his friend, glared with exactly the sort of teenaged haughtiness he would have had it been his own self leading by eight and a half points over second place. 

Practice on the morning of the second day passed by in a blur; Yuuri couldn’t remember any of the jumps he attempted after it was over, or if he had landed a single one. He wasn’t even sure he practiced the right program; from Viktor’s worried eyes, he wasn’t certain either. 

In fact, Viktor couldn’t tell precisely _what_ Yuuri was doing, until that evening, when he watched some of Yuuri’s old programs on YouTube and recognised the motions from last year’s free skate. “Oh, Yuuri,” he mumbled, though the man in question was in the shower. 

On the third morning, Viktor grit his teeth and gave Yuuri the only advice he could think of. 

“Yuuri. Do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“You know.” 

And then Viktor backed away from the wall, taking Yuuri’s skate guards and their shared poodle-shaped tissue holder with him. 

Yuuri stared after him for only a moment before nodding. He stared at Viktor a moment longer, communicating _don’t take your eyes off me_ with no words at all; Viktor smiled to let him know he’d understood. 

There would be no instant replays; probably no recordings either. Yuuri’s meme status had died down; after the information spread that he’d done a quad loop, everyone seemed to assume that was the quad he was talking about after all, and lost interest. So most likely, no-one would even be watching closely enough to know quite what they saw. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to do it in his program anyway. 

Yuuri’s takeoff was perfect; his height felt just right, exactly as he was reluctant to admit he had imagined. But after two and a half rotations, he felt his momentum change, and he barely managed to catch himself before he crashed painfully to the ice.

It hadn’t worked. Yuuri didn’t make the jump; in fact, he’d failed it spectacularly, so much so that Phichit dropped down beside him in a frenzy to see if he was alright after a fall like that, and a few other skaters looked on from a distance. But he’d spun out all his anxiety, so it worked for something after all. 

There would be no instant replays. He wouldn’t need any. 

Unfortunately, the absence of his nerves didn’t fix everything. The awkward landing made itself known partway through Yuuri’s free skate, as bruising started to set in along his hip and thigh, his ankle releasing a slight heat that Yuuri knew meant trouble. He wasn’t trying to beat Yuri, and JJ was somewhere around fifth place with his drastically simplified programs, so Yuuri felt safe opting out of the horrendously difficult program he’d pulled out of his ass for the Grand Prix Final, for the sake of his own body. 

He came in fourth, and was out of practice entirely for a week at least so that the muscle injury in his ankle could heal. But Yuuri, for once, didn’t feel like he’d lost. 

It might have been because Viktor made it up to him by massaging his ankle every morning and night, in between murmured apologies for pushing him to try something he wasn’t ready for, and getting Yuuri hurt as a result. 

\---

Viktor expected Yuri to say something, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t. Yuri pretended he’d seen nothing; pretended he didn’t know _for. a. fact._ that Yuuri had attempted a quad axel for the first time right before his very eyes. 

And failed. But that wasn’t the point. 

Yuri was silent. _Everyone_ was, but not everyone was so observant as the sixteen-year-old with tiger eyes. 

\---

Yuuri and Viktor went into the 2015 World Figure Skating Championships with heads full of static. _Eros_ was back to utter perfection; _Yūri on Ice_ was a masterpiece in two forms. Viktor’s programs, _Prologue to Victory_ and _L’amour qui Vainc Tout_ , had achieved a level of demigod-like spectacle with which both Yuuri and Viktor were satisfied. Their technical scores were similar; depending on which version of _Yūri on Ice_ Yuuri ultimately used, his could be higher or lower, but the difference was only a handful of points either way. 

Which meant, in the end, it was all up to execution and PCS scores, which of them won gold. 

...And Yuri Plisetsky. 

Yes, there were other skaters. Twenty-seven other skaters in the men’s division, in fact, and all of them excellent figure skaters. But part of Yuuri knew that somehow, it would all come down to the three of them. 

“I’m going to do it again,” Yuuri said, the morning of the short program. These were the only words he said to Viktor between waking up, and the end of the practice session; it was the only warning he gave, and Viktor knew he was helpless to stop him, no matter how authoritative of a Model Coach Voice he pulled out. In between that time, Yuuri was a whirlwind, a burst of energy, both nervous and excited. And in the last half hour of practice, Yuuri passed by Viktor with a sort of electric charge in his tailwind, and Viktor stopped. 

Viktor caught the glimmer in Yuuri’s eyes; he was searching, searching for exactly the right moment, exactly the right tenseness in his legs, exactly the right speed, exactly the right _everything_ for a jump he knew absolutely nothing about except that he _wanted_ it. 

Viktor saw it as if in slow motion. If he was a technical judge, he would watch the instant replay only out of habit; he knew what he saw. The fall meant little, because Yuuri slid a bit and got right up, face flushed with exhilaration. What mattered was the four and a half rotations that came before it. It would be a deduction of one point out of fifteen, if Yuuri did it like that in competition. 

It had been a long, long time since Viktor had last stumbled while merely standing on the ice, but he rested his hands on the boards anyway, willing his heart to stop racing. 

\---

Yuuri was in second after the short program, about two and a half points behind the Ice Tiger of Russia. Yuuri had a new personal best to boast, but he was quiet. 

One reporter asked about the fall on his “over-rotated triple axel” from that morning’s practice; Yuuri just smiled and said _it happens to the best of us_. Viktor wanted to laugh; it certainly _did_ happen to the best. And his Yuuri was most certainly the best. 

“How does it feel to be in third place?” another reporter asked Viktor, speaking in French. It was his third language, but then, Viktor had always been good with languages. Viktor answered easily, that he was confident in his abilities’ that he’d been in third after the short program many times before, and still won in the end. 

He was seven points behind Yuuri. In all honesty, he was devastated as he always was when his name wasn’t top of the list, but also, he couldn’t possibly be more proud. 

“How does it feel to know Christophe Giacometti will not be joining you on the podium?”

Ah. That hurt. 

Chris had taken a nasty fall in the first minute, and after a look of severe pain at the next jump, barely finished his short program, omitting all subsequent jumps and instances of relying on his right leg. He hadn’t even looked at his own scores, but they were below the minimum required to advance to the free skate; in fact, he was at the very bottom of the list. He’d then texted Viktor from the hospital, with a photo of several X-ray images and the caption _Nothing like going out with a bang, right?_

Viktor swallowed hard. Chris had been his constant companion, the silver to his gold, his literal right-hand-man for years. He knew Chris was going to retire after this season; somehow, that made it hurt a million times more to see him forced out of competition at the last moment by an injury. 

Chris had left the ice graciously, smiling and waving to his fans as always, but Viktor knew when his friend was about to break down. 

“I’ll skate my best in his place,” Viktor said. “But I don’t intend to be content with silver.” 

The next question was about his choice of costume; Viktor looked down at his tracksuit, and saw in his mind’s eye the rhinestone-studded black, white, and silver crushed mesh flowing over an impeccably fitted leotard, and the thigh-high stockings held up by enormous amounts of body adhesive. He’d taken the long, silver-gray ribbon of faux silk out of his hair and wrapped it around his wrist, so it stuck out a bit from under his sleeve. “I was going back to an old aesthetic. When I was young, my costumes blended masculine and feminine styles, and as my short program is an expression of my youth, I thought my costume should match.” He didn’t mention how Yuuri reacted the first time he saw Viktor in this, even before it was fitted; that information was for Viktor and Viktor alone. 

He was surprised no-one asked him about it earlier, honestly. Viktor had been wearing the same thing since Russia. That wouldn’t be true for the free skate, but they didn’t know that yet. 

Yuuri came toward Viktor, his own interviews finished. His hair was half tied back, half gelled into place; Viktor felt his insides turn into goo. 

“So, Viktor… what’s it like to be skating against your own student?” the reporter asked, as she also caught sight of Yuuri. 

Viktor smiled, as genuine as he had all day, and pulled Yuuri into frame with him. Yuuri blushed a little, but waved at the camera, sensing he was somehow involved in the conversation even with the language barrier in the way. 

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Viktor answered. “I want nothing more than for myself to win, and I want nothing more than for him to win… I am a very sore loser, but we won’t have our wedding unless he wins international gold first. So I’ve decided I’ll just do my best, and so will he, and it will be up to the judges.” 

“...Excuse me, did you say you will be getting married?” 

“Viktor?” Yuuri interjected, quietly, and in English. “Are you talking about a wedding?”

Despite knowing no French, Yuuri had picked up on the word _mariage_ … Viktor was impressed. “ _Our_ wedding. Do you have any input?” 

Yuuri smiled. “Only that I hope you have a suit ready. I intend to win, and you will follow through on your promise when I do.” With that, Yuuri left Viktor’s side to go blush himself into a flaming frenzy out of view of the cameras. The little half-skirt on his costume flapped in his wake, its red lining almost as eye-catching as the ass it highlighted. 

When Yuuri was out of sight, Viktor looked directly into the camera and said, “Ah, _je l’aime_ …” 

\---

Screaming. And then a loud _thunk_. 

Otabek hesitated a moment before peeking around the corner. 

Yuri was positively _seething_. 

“Yura?”

“What?!” Yuri turned toward Otabek, all the anger still in every inch of his face and every note of his voice. 

Otabek approached him with caution; slowly, and light on his feet in case he needed to run. He had already changed into trainers, but Yuri was still in his skates, so Otabek could outrun him if needed. 

It wasn’t that he was _afraid_ precisely; it was just that Otabek had never been been the recipient of Yuri’s anger before. 

“Sorry,” Yuri mumbled. He glanced at the dent he’d made in the wall; not as bad as if he hadn’t had the guards on his skates, but still something. “Ugh. That _fucking pig_.”

“Katsuki? What about him?”

“You had to have seen it. That god damn --” Yuri kicked the wall again “-- _overrotatedtripleaxel!_ ” he shouted all in a rush. 

“Is that what it was?” 

“ _Fuck_ no. He was closer to--” Yuri bit his lip, like he didn’t want to say it. 

“A quad.” Otabek thought so too, but he knew no commentator or judge would ever admit it; no skater would say it in the face of a camera. 

“I _hate_ him!” Yuri gave the wall a good punch. 

“Yuri, don’t--”

“I can’t fucking stand him! He goes and fucks up all his jumps, then steals Viktor away, then beats me, then tries to beat me again so he can fucking _retire_ just when I was starting to enjoy myself, and now he’s going to ruin my _life_ by doing a _quad axel_.” The wall takes one more hit, this time from Yuri’s head meeting it, but softly, more resigned than angry. “It’s not _fair_. I’ve trained my whole life for this; he’s only been doing most of his quads for a year or less, and I had to teach him one of them.” 

“You can still beat him,” Otabek offers, and Yuri laughs. 

“I can beat a quad axel? Sure.”

“It’s just one jump. You don’t even know if he’ll make it.” Otabek decides Yuri has calmed down (or, at least, stopped yelling) enough to accept physical contact, so he touches his shoulder, arm laying gently across Yuri’s back. “In Barcelona, you fell out of a jump, remember? And you thought you’d lost to him because of that. But you _won_. You can do it again. You’re still in first.”

“We’re so much closer now. He’s only two points away, Beka. I don’t have anything up my sleeve that can best him if he does it.” 

“What are you expecting, Yura? Do you think he’ll add the it on top of everything else he has? On top of what he did in Barcelona? He _can’t_. There’s nowhere in his program to put another jump, and he’ll have too many triple axels if he doesn’t get all the rotations, so he won’t get the points at all. And you know that what he did at the Grand Prix was his limit; beyond his limit, even.”

“What do you think he’s going to do, then?” 

“I think he’s going to take the standard version of his free skate, the one he’s been practicing, without all of Barcelona’s surprises; I think he’s going to replace a double or triple jump with the quad axel. You will be up against a program with a similar difficulty to last time you went up against him. You _can win_.”

Yuri huffed, still disbelieving. “Look at you, trying to make me feel better. You’re in fourth place; shouldn’t you be thinking about how you’ll make up the jump to first?”

“I already know how I’ll do that.”

“Oh? How.”

“I’m taking a page out of Viktor and Katsuki’s book.” Otabek gave Yuri one of his rare smiles. “I’m going to skate for someone I love.” 

\---

@phichit_chu

_fifth place!!! cheer me on *\\(^_^)/*_

Phichit snapped his phone into his selfie stick and held it out at his well-practiced sweet spot for the perfect angle. He carefully posed his body on the bench, making sure at least one skate was in view, his embellished pant legs gleaming in the light. His jacket was on, open to show the front of his shirt, but also carefully arranged to shout-out his home country. He changed the tilt of his head by millimeters at a time to catch just the right light, and -- _snap!_

**phichit+chu**

**__**looks like i’m in fifth place! thank you for supporting me. i promise to do my very best in the free skate!

He wanted to win gold. He wanted it _so bad_ ; for himself, for his family, for his country, for the _world_. 

But he looked at the list above him; four exceptional skaters, three of whom had won some sort of international gold before, and the last, Yuuri Katsuki, his best friend, who Phichit just _knew_ was going to snatch that gold medal out from right under his hands. 

As much as he wanted it… as much as he believed he could and _would_ get it someday, and as hard as he was going to try tomorrow, part of Phichit knew he would need to be very, very lucky to even medal.

Which was fucking ridiculous. Only two years earlier, the skater in seventh place after the short program had won bronze. It wasn’t impossible. It wasn’t even unlikely for Phichit to make a comeback in the free skate. 

Except that it was Yuuri Katsuki, and Yuri Plisetsky, and Viktor Nikiforov. 

A reporter approached Phichit, and he grinned at her, the smile of a winner turned up to full brightness to outshine the wetness in his eyes.

It wouldn’t do to mourn so soon. There was still tomorrow. Tomorrow was a world unknown -- _Terra Incognita_ \-- and Phichit had never felt so ready to skate. 

\---

The first thing that made Viktor think something was off was that Yuuri disappeared the night between the short program and free skate. Said he was _going out, no Viktor, you don’t have to follow me, I just want to be alone for a bit, no, I’m not mad at you, I just want some alone time, I’ll be back soon_. And he was back before Viktor even fell asleep; Yuuri curled up with him in the king sized bed, holding him closer than usual as if to apologise for leaving him alone. 

But Yuuri took his _skates_ with him, and left his pass to the skating arena on the hotel room’s desk, so where the hell did he go? 

The second thing was that Yuuri wore his track pants all morning. Yuuri never did that; unlike Viktor, he only wore his jacket over his costumes, and asserted his legs were warm enough. Given the layer of soft fat on his thighs that never went away no matter how Yuuri trained, Viktor didn’t question it; he always needed extra pants to warm up his noodle legs. But Yuuri… did not. And it wasn’t as if this particular skating rink was any colder than the rest. 

But he didn’t ask Yuuri about it, because it wasn’t _that_ strange. Anyone other than him would not have noticed. 

The third thing was that his makeup was different. Again, only something Viktor would really notice. Yuuri always went for a very natural look for _Yūri on Ice_ , only highlighting his own features, rather than the more dramatic contour, smoky eye, and red lipstick he did for _Eros_. But it seemed Yuuri had gone with a slightly different tone of foundation, and his eyes were lined in black rather than brown, and his rouge was a little more noticeable, and god, was he wearing a lip stain? His lips looked so _pink_ … Viktor felt a bit faint for a moment, but it passed, and by the time it did, they were calling the final group of skaters out to the ice for warm-up. 

Viktor thought for sure that Yuuri would take off his pants at this point, but he didn’t. 

But Viktor had to focus. He had to do his very best today, or neither he, nor Yuuri, nor Yuri would be satisfied no matter what the results were. 

_L’amour qui Vainc Tout_ … The Love That Conquers All. As if Viktor could make his theme for the season anything other than _life and love_. Viktor shed his red-and-white tracksuit to reveal the layers underneath; the deep maroon jacket with its mesh waist, the skin-tight black trousers, an obvious copy of Yuuri’s free skate costume. He’d received it only days before, having decided at the last minute to switch from his previous costume (a more tailored and studded thing to fit his princely image of the last few years) to this one. 

Why would he be anything less that fully transparent about who he skated for? 

He heard Yuuri’s small gasp behind him, and when Viktor turned to wink at him, he found Yuuri’s eyes glittering, and his hands over his mouth. Yuuri’s ring shone in the bright lights. 

Viktor kissed his own ring, and stepped out onto the ice. 

The skate was a blur, as it often was; all he felt was his love for Yuuri in his heart, and the air rushing around him unimpeded by a fall that never came. A flawless program, as usual, and he didn’t bother to wait for his scores or even sit down in the kiss and cry. He just held a bouquet of pink and blue roses plucked from the ice and his Makkachin tissue holder to his chest, leaning over the low wall to give Yuuri his words of encouragement. 

But he didn’t have any words. 

Yuuri had changed too. 

It was the same costume, really. He and Viktor still matched. But now he was in _all-white_ and Viktor couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand the meaning. His pants even extended into white skate covers, and how did Viktor not notice the glitter in his hair before? Or the iridescent blue ribbon tying it back, which Viktor knew was the precise color of his eyes. 

When Yuuri stopped in front of him, Viktor only had one word. 

“ _Aishiteimasu_.”

Yuuri laughed. 

“Did I say it right?” Viktor asked. He’d practiced, but he wasn’t sure. 

Yuuri smiled ever wider and nodded. “Mm-hm. _Shitteruyo_.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ‘I know’. _Mo aishiteimasu_ , Viktor.” 

“Good luck,” Viktor said, like a promise. 

“You too,” Yuuri said, like a challenge. He kissed Viktor’s cheek, and greeted the audience before taking up his spot in the center of the ice. 

Faintly, Viktor registered Yakov yelling at him that he’d broken the world record once again, and all Viktor could think was _I can’t wait for Yuuri to take it back_. Because he _knew_ what was coming. Knew Yuuri’s programs inside and out, knew exactly _when_ it was coming because it was the _only_ place in Yuuri’s free skate that it could happen --

He landed it. 

He _landed it_ and it was _beautiful_ and Viktor didn’t take his eyes off Yuuri for a second, he’d promised he wouldn’t, but he could barely see his fiance through the tears that suddenly spilled from his eyes. He couldn’t see the shocked faces of the judges; all he could do was hear the thunderous applause of the audience, only half of whom probably had any idea what they had just witnessed. 

Viktor’s eyes had just about cleared up in time for him to see Yuuri’s (perfect, flawless, _amazing_ ) quad flip, and he held back the rest of what threatened to burst out of him until he saw Yuuri hold out his hand to Viktor, always to Viktor even now that he was on the opposite side of the rink. 

Viktor was _certain_ that his minimal makeup was running right down his face, setting powder be damned. He caught Yuuri up in his arms as he came off the ice, spun him around once and whispered into Yuuri’s neck as the crowd continued to cheer. “Even if by some miracle Yurio beats you, I won’t stand another moment not married to you. Do you hear me?” 

“Mm. I accept.” Of course he would; his costume already said very clearly _it’s atrocious that Viktor and I are not already married_. 

There was a delay in Yuuri’s results. Of course there would be; the technical judges would have to pore over the instant replay to make absolutely certain that Yuuri’s quad axel was, indeed, a quad. Viktor could imagine, easily, the commentators losing their collective shit, going over the same jump in slow-motion until Yuri began, sparing half a thought for Yuuri’s flip, and probably not even showing his other quads that he had worked so hard on, or his flawless step sequences that Viktor still thought were the Yuuri’s specialty, even if he knew Yuuri would be forever remembered for his axel from this day on. 

They leaned against each other’s shoulders in the kiss and cry, patient, looking every bit the matched pair they were in their fire and ice, night and day costumes, fingers entwined. 

Yuri took to the ice; three skaters shouted out “Davai!” but he only bothered to acknowledge one, his close friend who had skated without a flaw and with more emotion than Yuri had ever seen from him, but still couldn’t rack up enough PCS points in his free skate to medal. Which Yuri thought was _bullshit_ ; Otabek got bronze last year, he could do better. His choreographer was probably a sack of shit, or the judges were. 

Unlike the schmoopy couple taking up space in the kiss and cry, Yuri hadn’t changed his costume; he didn’t need to shock everyone with anything other than his skating. Unfortunately, he couldn’t know going into his program what Yuuri’s score was -- he couldn’t know what he had to beat. 

So he pulled every ounce of strength and beauty he’d ever had right out of the very soles of his feet where he stored it, and became the tiger, the monster, the fairy, the prima ballerina, the soldier, all at once. 

Yuri didn’t see Yuuri’s score until he stepped off the ice -- 332.25. Yuri’s breath stuck in his chest; he knew every world record that was relevant to him, and Yuuri had just taken the highest combined score. Yuri would have to break a world record that had _just been broken_ in order to win, and he didn’t even know. 

There were three plush cat toys in his arms; he wished he had about a thousand more, just piled on top of him. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like there was a gaping hole inside of him. Because his scores came up moments after he sat down, like they were _easy_. 

Second place. 

Yuri got second place. 

Which meant --

“I won!” 

Yuri turned his head, even though he knew he shouldn’t, and saw Viktor leap into Yuuri’s arms and kiss him full on the mouth, messy through their uncontrollable smiles. Viktor didn’t even seem to care that he got bronze. 

Yuri felt a pressure behind his eyes that he refused to acknowledge. He had silver; he _hated_ it. But for all that, he knew Yuuri deserved gold. Not for the fucking quad axel that made Yuri want to shove a toe pick right up his ass, but for the beautiful free program as a whole. 

He was pissed, sure. But he couldn’t begrudge Yuuri this. 

\---

There was a strange calm on the first place podium. 

With a medal weighing down on his shoulders, and his skates planted firmly in the high-friction carpeting, Yuuri smiled for the cameras, but heard and saw nothing at all. It was serene, like he was floating above it all. 

And he came crashing delightfully down when Viktor linked their hands. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Viktor said, a smile on his mouth and tears in his eyes. 

“You did pretty well yourself,” Yuuri mumbled back. “So did Yurio.”

“Mm. Between the three of us, we each have a world record now.” 

“We do.” Yuuri took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. “Remember what you said back in December?”

“Which thing? Probably not.”

“You said, ‘the first person in the world to land the first quintuple jump is already alive’.”

“Ah. I do remember that.” Viktor tapped his index finger to his lips, letting the bronze medal dangle from his thumb and middle finger. 

“I have a feeling I know who it will be.” 

“Oh? I think I do too.” 

“Not me,” Yuuri asserted. “A quad axel is enough for me.”

“Oh, no. No, it’ll be someone else. Leave it to the younger generation, I think.”

“Mm.”

“What are you two talking about?” Yuri butted in, never once dropping his… well, one could have said smile, but one also could have said grimace, and neither one would be totally incorrect. 

“You,” Yuuri said simply. He reached down and took Yuri’s hand (Yuri was Not Happy About This) and pulled him and Viktor up to his level. They all crowded on the highest podium, two out of three enjoying the closeness very much. 

“What were you saying about me?” Yuri asked. 

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Viktor said. 

Yuuri laughed, and pressed his gold medal against Viktor’s face to block his self-satisfied grin. Viktor just kissed it, like he said he would. 

“Mm. Tastes like victory.” 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: [@nq_what](https://twitter.com/nq_what)  
> tumblr: [nouveauqueer](http://nouveauqueer.tumblr.com/)


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